The Folly of Exploration. (1 - 1 Jules and Night)

[Guest]

Clawed fingers poked and prodded at the decoration embedded within the walls of the corridor. Curiously, the tan-skinned humanoid, who went by the name of 'Jules', pushed his fingers into the eye sockets of the gleaming skull and pulled. The corded muscle of his thick forearms barely stood proud until, with a sad little crockery noise, the skull came loose from its mounting. The vaguely feline humanoid stared, first at the cloud of gritty grey dust, and then at the skull in his large hands.

"It's real?" Quickly, the tawny skinned creature rammed the bony decoration back into the gap and wiped his hands on the deep blue jeans he wore. A shudder of revulsion ran through him, and he stepped away from the wall with a look of distaste. "Ugh. The guy who lives here doesn't have any taste at all," he started wiping his hands on the muscle shirt he wore, "worse than some of the places I've been to."

With a last lingering look at the wall, and its grim decorations, the tawny-skinned man walked on down the corridor, his bare feet slapping against the tiled floor. It was not unusual for holes to open in the scenery of the Dreaming, but they usually led to more interesting, and colourful, places than this. Unconsciously, he drew deeply tanned fingers through the unruly mane of hair that framed his face and flew out in all directions. If any man looked closer to a lion than this one, then a judge would be hard pressed to find him. This one even smelled vaguely of lion; a rank, feline scent with an undertone of savannah grass and old blood. He hadn't been in the Folly long, in fact it'd be more accurate to say that he was visiting unannounced, but it was already plain to him that the inhabitants were seriously screwed up.

"Fancy decorating the place with people's heads," he murmured, "they're so much more fun to play with when they're alive."

[Guest]

Two bandaged feet padded along the hall, making soft slapping sounds as Arti made his way around little cracks and bumps that look like they would hurt if he stepped on them. They wouldn't of course, since he couldn't feel it, if he didn't want to. Letters moved over the bandages that were wrapped around the soles of his feet. They weren't needed anymore, he knew that. He wasn't... wasn't what he use to be, without skin, with his oozing... He shuddered at that thought. But without the bandages that covered everything up to his neck and down to his ankles he flet naked, even when he simply wore the bandages and the see through peice of sandy cloth, with its hood. He was wearing both of them, his silver mask hanging around his neck like some sort of safety blanket. If he flet threatened, he simply put it on and shut away the outside world.

Unlike many of the gloomy people he had came across, he didn't look like he was ill or in fear. He had milky tea looking skin, flawless for what people could see of it between the cracks of the bandages. His limbs were long and slender, but at the same time looked like they belonged to the V shaped torso that was very thin. Muscles moved under the slightly browning wraps of paper. The bandages around his hips were slightly loose, tied like that of a short skirt, to hide some sort of dignity. The long thin peice of cloth cascaded over his shoulders like golden hair, baggy around his arms and tied around his waist, giving his light blonde hair the look of sand. The thing that made him stand out was his eyes. They were the blemish, the revelation of the soul underneathe. One was a sickly colored green, as if it had a Gangrene infection that only effected his Iris. The other was the color of pus, the little black dot standing out.

Under one of his slender arms a book was held against the side of his chest, a big dusty tomb that had seen thousands of millions of years. It seemed to have black light coming out of it as he turned the corner. Upclose, on the bandages, some letters whirred and changed places.

[Guest]

Footsteps that were not Jules' own marred the near silence, causing the lion-like man's stride to falter. He looked around frantically for somewhere to hide; if the owner of this place decorated using bones and bodyparts, what would he do to an uninvited interloper such as himself? The thought wasn't pleasant, so the heavily muscled, wild-haired fellow wasn't keen on a meeting.

Unfortunately, there was nowhere. Not a statue, urn or tasteless teapot in the corridor. Just row upon row of blank eyed, grinning skulls, and a tiled floor that felt vaguely gritty underfoot. Grinning in his nervousness, Jules pressed himself firmly up against the skulls set into the wall and hoped against hope that the person approaching the bend wouldn't see him if he kept still enough. It was a vain hope, of course. It would take a blind man to not see the six foot tall, muscular man pressed up against the wall. Even his skin tone showed him up against the pearly whiteness of the gleaming skulls.

It didn't take long for the maker of the noise to round the bend and come into sight. He was bandaged and clutching a book that, at first glance, looked merely black. The mere sight of this strange figure with a mask dangling from around his neck caused the strange, lionesque man to stiffen. A bead of sweat ran down from Jules' temple and dripped onto his muscle shirt, causing a spot on the grey cloth to turn from light to dark.

His heart hammered in his broad chest and instinct told him to fight or flee. Reason told him to speak, to say something that let this bizarre, vaguely threatening individual let him know he wasn't to be trifled with. What actually happened was that Jules squeaked as his throat closed up around his voicebox, and he apparently tried to dig his way through the wall with his shoulderblades. Unconsciously, he gripped a small, unnoticed outcrop in the wall behind him, turned it ninety degrees to the left and fell full length into the empty room beyond, as a hitherto undetected door opened up behind him.

"Ow," he muttered vaguely, once he got his breath back. The fall hadn't hurt because of the adrenaline pumping through his veins. It'd come later, he knew, if his experiences in the waking world had told him anything about this reality.

[Guest]

He had spotted the tall, lion looking figure. It wasn't hard to miss someone like that. He almost sensed the fear that made the person try to move back against the wall so much. He stepped forward, mouth open, trying to say something before the figure fell back. He padded towards the hole in the wall, looking around the corner and peering down at the figure who was laid upon the floor. The scent hit his nose and seem to take a hammer to them. He stepped back, eyes wide, staring at the man on the floor and wondering for a moment whether or not it was going to turn into a lion and pounce him. "Er... Hello?" He said softly, mismatched eyes gazing down onto the figure. The roughness of the figure put him in mind of lots of grass and blood. The book almost slipped from under his arm, but he caught in his hands, holding out as a shield as he stepped back.

The room on the other side wasn't as tastefully decorated as the outside. There were pillars, where the rest of the bodies were used. The heads had been severed, but the chest cages and spines had become these very decorative looking ornaments... Four spines held up lots of thigh bones and other little bits of bones that held the cieling up. They were all embedded into stone and all in all there must have been eight or so, totally decrotive. Between them, hanging from the cieling, there were spider webbed cast iron cages, light shining out of them. In the middle there was what seemed to be an alter of arms and skulls that tried to lurk out of the stone, with a round water basin risen upon the back of a kneeling skeleton. "Well... Thats charming..."

[Guest]

Lion instincts battered Jules' reason and fought for dominance as he felt the bandaged figure looking at him. In the Dreaming world that was his home, he would have changed instantly into the beast he resembled. However, here his form was locked into the one he had worn wore when he first stepped into reality. It didn't stop his sense of smell sharpening, or his teeth from becoming sharper, until they resembled those of a lion in miniature. It didn't stop him writhing with the pain of the arrested transformation that his observer's perceptions forced upon him, but the world did not permit. With a cry, somewhere between a growl and a yell of pain, Jules slapped both clawed hands to his mouth to hide his steadily lengthening teeth from view. Then, with a great deal of difficulty, as if every word was winched from the depths of memory, he spoke.

"Look... Away. From me." The next words were indistinct, muffled by both Jules' teeth and his hands, but it sounded like half forgotten nonsense anyway. A small amount of relief from the intense pain of the curtailed transformation came from the bandaged man spotting the contents of the room. Along with the shift of attention came more of his half-suppressed humanity. "Please... Don't look at me. It hurts when someone sees me as more of a beast than a man."

[Guest]

Arti watched in fascination as the man he thought of as a lion in human shape began to... change. The smell lifted off him in barrel fulls and almost choked him, sending him reeling back as the figure tried to change. In his previous life, when it was just him and Night, he only read of things like this. He wasn't use to it in person. The difference of seeing a picture of a battlefield and stood on a battlefield. At the shouted order, muffled behind hands and teeth he turned around, stepping quickly away and staring into the eyes of a Skull that was used to so tastefully decorate. Fear was welling up inside of him, as a small paranoid voice whispered, "You've just turned you back on a man that could probably eat you." A smaller voice, terrified, began to repeat over and over again. "Please don't kill me, please don't kill me... Wouldn't it be lovely if he said hello and was charming and intelligent?" The intricate little details carved onto the skulls really were quite nice, even if the whole effect made him think of those mass burial sites hidden under Paris. Paris.That was in France, on the other side of this world, where it didn't reek of death and burnt pages...

[Guest]

In an instant, the pain that riddled his body stopped and Jules realised with some relief that the bandaged man had turned away. He lay there for a moment, letting his muscles and bones remember that they were supposed to be humanoid, and then rolled onto hands and knees. Slowly, carefully, he stood, and then looked at the back of the bandaged man in the corridor. He seemed a little nervous about turning his back, and Jules was torn between simply disappearing down the corridor, or thanking him for his courage.

He frowned suddenly. That last thought wasn't one of his own. It seemed that, beneath his fear, and his peculiar appearance that wouldn't have been out of place in the Dreaming, the man in the corridor wanted a friend. For a moment, just a moment, the lion-like, muscular denizen of the Dreaming considered resisting the impulse, as he had the instincts that had assailed his mind. Instead, since the perception seemed harmless enough, he padded up behind the man, took a deep breath to calm himself, and then slowly let it go.

"Thank you." His voice was deep, a little like the growl of the great cat he resembled. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't stopped looking at me."

Nervously, Jules twisted his large, clawed hands into the grey t-shirt he wore, and exposed a part of his flat, muscled abdomen. If the man turned around and saw him as a lion again, he'd be right back to the screaming pain of arrested transformation.

[Guest]

He kept still, listening the man stop after he had turned away. When he heard him get up he was a little nervous, gulping air down softly until he heard him say "Thank you." Carefully, turning off his imagination (Witch was very hard to do when he was a writer and was used to comparing things with similies and metaphors) he turned around, eyeing the man. Artifex tried to take everything on face value, examinging the lio- the wild hair that looked almost, but not quite like a mane. He examined the tawny skin color and guessed the man spent alot of time outside. Maybe he was a farmer. That was a good lie. The sound of the growling voice made him think of... Of nothing much, trying to examine the clothes the man wore carefully. They were odd to him, but he wasn't much used to clothes of any kind, giving a small glance at the abadomen and trying not to smirk. "Erm... Hellow? How are you?" He extended a hand, eyeing the claws carefully and smiled slightly, the book held against his chest.

[Guest]

Both of Jules' shoulders hunched slightly. His face screwed up with the expectation of pain, and he was rather surprised when it didn't come. He blinked several times, face going slack from the surprise, then, just to make sure, he looked at the bandaged man to make sure that he was, indeed, looking at him. The mismatched eyes, one pus yellow, the other gangrene green, caused the darkly tan man pause. He was sure he'd seen something similar in the Dreaming once, but there was no way he could rely on the physical nature of the man in front of him.

"erm... Hello? How are you?"

"I'm much better now, thanks to you." Jules took the proffered hand and pumped it vigorously, careful to keep his claws out of the way, and smiled his most un-lionlike smile. There were no teeth involved, except perhaps a hint behind Jule's tan lips. "You're good at this." He winced as a hint of farmer hit the back of his mind, and a stray thought about milking the sheep sparked and fireworked. "Careful not to overdo it, mind. Us dreams are fragile here."

He took his hands back from the bandaged and cloaked man and looked around at the skull infested halls that surrounded them, and then back to the man in front of him. From the little he'd gleaned of him, it didn't seem like this place could be decorated by the fellow.

"Are you exploring too?" Both of Jules' thick blonde eyebrows raised as he looked back at his possible companion to reinforce the implied invitation. It would be nice to have someone to walk these halls with and, if worse came to the worse, someone to hide behind if more denizens turned up. A mild curiosity about the black book he clutched so carefully flashed a fin, but there was every possibility that he could broach the subject a little later. Now didn't seem like the best time.

[Guest]

He watched as Jules screwed up his body, shoulders haunced and face tight, wondering slightly why he would feel such pain at Arti comparing to Lions, or other beasts he knew of. For a moment he thought he saw a look of... Recognition? But it was brushed aside as he heard the lion man thank him. For what, he thought silently. He smiled broadly at the good handshake, watching the care and his arm move up and down quickly. So that meant this man was thankful that he, atleast, couldn't turn off his imagination... Arti felt something swim to the top of his mind before he quickly wiped it off. It... wasn't really mentioning much, but he had a little mental image of the man having a tail. And the more he thought about it, the more he tried not to smile. But it stopped as he heard that this man was a dream. "Dreams?" He asked, eyes opened wide. "You're a Dream? Thats very interesting..." He looked off to the side, thinking for a few moments about that before he suddenly nodded. "Yes, Yes. I'm exploring too..."

Suddenly he took out the black volume, flicking it open and looking into the blank pages that had swirling letters upon them. Some pages formed up, general Hypothenis of Dreaming, of how the brain switches off and sorts out the images of the Day. Others called them messages form the gods, each word or writing looking slightly different from the others. Artifex looked through them, humming slightly and looking up at him. "Theres nothing here about walking dreams..." He muttered, flicking through pages and sigihng softly. Arti looked into the face for a moment, wondering what it actually looked like, was it that face or was it something else. "Would... You like to go with me?" If it had been a Fin in Jule's mind, it was the first Amthebian to walk upon land and evolve into something that no longer needed the sea.

[Guest]

The moment the bandaged man opened the book, Jules craned towards it and tried to see what the pages did. Unlike the books in the Dreaming, which were more like miniature doors to other realities, or contained Nightmares that waited to pounce on unsuspecting Dreamers, this one had actual writing in it. Admittedly, it swirled and changed like something from a dream, but the book itself was solidly there. Nevertheless, it was interesting to watch; so much so that he was distracted from the terrible itching that had afflicted the base of his spine not two minutes previously. Maybe it had been a mistake to stuff his tail down the back of his jeans before he stepped into the Waking.

"There's nothing here about walking dreams..."

"Isn't there?" Jules replied, non-committally, and smiled again. He hadn't been able to read the shifting text, but it was relaxing to watch the shapes it formed. "I can assure you, I'm from the Dreaming world. Maybe when you go to sleep we'll meet again." Both of Jules' ears twitched at the bandaged man's proposal and he nodded enthusiastically. "I'd like that. There's nothing like exploring a new place with another person. It adds a little depth to the experience, don't you find?" Grinning now, the darkly tan man put a muscled arm over is new companion's shoulders and gestured as if the movement took in the whole world. "We could chart new experiences. Go places we've never been before." The grin broadened, just slightly. "Where is the women's changing rooms?" The grin shifted down two gears and became a smile. "I jest. My name's Jules, incidentally. I don't believe I know yours?"

[Guest]

He almsot hid away the book from the mans view, feeling slightly protective of his... soul? Night always said he could read Artifex like a book. The thought made him feel depressed slightly as he looked back down on the words of his mind. He listened to the Man who looked alike to, but was in no way shape or form, a lion. He liked the idea of having a friend in a dream. It would make it a lot more easier to put your day to more useful things while you were awake. When he heard the man say depth, it had actually sounded like it was written in Italics. On the page infront of him, in a small little corner, the word appeared, slanted and in english. He chuckled slightly at the mentioned of Women changing rooms, wondering if they even head any. "No, you don't." Arti smiled up at the man holding his arm around him. He ducked out from under it and strolled along the corridor, turning around and stopping. "Come on then. It's Artifex, by the way. My name is Artifex."

[Guest]

"Arrtifex." The name rolled around Jules' tongue as he tasted the sound of the word, then he nodded and padded after the bandaged man. He liked the name, though the way he said it somehow added a deeper meaning to the three syllables than was usually there. "Not a dreamscape I recognise," Jules murmured to himself, "I'll definitely look it up when I get back, though." He settled easily into step next to his Waking companion and put both clawed hands behind his head as he walked. All of these corridors looked the same to him; decorated with skulls, or some tasteless panorama of violent warfare, or occasionally hung with the remains of trespassers. Or, possibly, servants who'd displeased the owner of the place. Whoever the master was, Jules hoped he wouldn't run into him.

A handle, much like the one he'd found by accident, jutted from the decoration of skulls that lined the corridor. In keeping with that same decoration, it looked like it was made from a shrunken version. Experimentally, Jules twisted it as he passed, and was inordinately proud of himself when the guess paid off. He was a little less proud when the room was revealed. Books lined the walls, with more skulls and bones used to decorate the shelves, and in the centre was a grisly tableaux of impaled bodies, one of which held a sign, written in blood, saying 'Silence'. There wasn't a smell from the corpses, which seemed to be preserved by some arcane means and, in some cases, still bleeding. There also didn't seem to be a librarian. Quite sensibly, therefore, the dark-skinned man assumed that the monstrous amalgamation of corpses was the librarian, and was simply waiting to leap at them for not being quiet. At least, that was what normally happened in certain parts of the Dreaming.

Silently, Jules turned questioning eyes upon Artifex, then raised both brows. There was bound to be something in the room worth seeing, the only question seemed to be in finding it.

[Guest]

"Its latin." He muttered, wondering where the being came from. "I use to be call the, erm... Scribe. But I changed it. I figure, new lease of life, new name... I don't dream that much, actually. I haven't really slept for thirty thousand years. I've just been... thinking inwards, if you understand what I mean." He was sure that Jules understood. Or atleast hoped he did. The image of the tail wouldn't get out of his mind, picturing him swishing it from left and right. They came across an Unfortunate soul, or what had once been the capsule of that soul. He stepped against the man, eye down, recognizing some of Nights work. When you lived with that man for some time, you soon picked up on little trademarks of his... It really did make him fell sad. So long ago he had been with Scribe, treated him like he was made of glass, most precious thing in the world. He often wondered if he was, somehow. Atleast to Night. Was he what Night wanted everyone to be like? Up until he wrote that story... He still didn't understand that himself and he paid with it for the smudges of black that were Night's tears. They weren't able to be removed, no matter what he did... He even showered, afriad that the water would some how make him fall apart like paper.

The thoughts faded from his mind as Jules found another door. The room itself was generally unlike the others, simple and plain, with the little square sqaut shelves often used for personal studies. He eyed the books before he actually saw before him the pile of bodies. Then he felt the bile rise, his eyes taking in everything and shudering. It was worse then the thing they had walked by. Atleast it had looked dead. The thing on the table looked alive, as if it was freshly made. Slowly, gingerly, he stepped away from jules and held a skull in his hand, bending over and wretching as he was sick. The sound echoed down the hallways as he breathed softly. What was wrong with him?! He had seen worse! Much worse! Especially when he had lived with Night! He had walked in on terrible things that still haunted him sometimes... But this wasn't Night's work. He could have lived with that. Someone else had done this, someone as evil... The thought made him shudder.

[Guest]

A sour vomit smell flooded Jules' nostrils as Artifex's stomach emptied through his mouth. Tactfully, and as quietly as possible, the dream closed the library door and hid the grisly sight from view. Then he stood next to his companion and crouched, careful to avoid the vomit, then vaguely patted Artifex on the back.

"You know, we could put off this exploring thing and go somewhere less disturbing. You said you haven't slept for a while, so maybe I could show you where I come from?" He paused momentarily, imagining the damage a nightmare could do to a Dreamer who was physically inside the dream realm, and shook his head. "On second thoughts, that's a bad idea. Forget I mentioned it. If the ruler were there it wouldn't be a problem, but right now things are a little skittish."

He broke off suddenly as he heard a faint scratching noise from the closed door, like a dog that wanted to be let out. Warily, aware that he wasn't in the Dreaming and therefore able to die permanently, Jules looked back. Blood was seeping from under the closed library door. If this had been the dream realm, the door would have been bulging outwards. Thankfully, it wasn't, but one of the skulls that decorated the wood looked dangerously close to pinging off and clattering on the floor.

"I think we need to get away from here." Jules' voice was calm. Not the calm of someone trying to subdue panic, but the calm of someone who'd seen this type of thing before and always found it interesting. "I think we accidentally woke someone up from a lovely little nap."

[Guest]

Arti blocked out most of what Jules seemed to be saying. His attention had been caught at what had just been the contents of his stomach. They were words. A mess of words that seemed to writhe and dance around it. If he spent too much time staring at it, he figured he would throw up again. The letters faded and disappeared and he noticed the pa-hand on his back. Then the sound of the scratching, witch seemed to make it worse. Glancing slowly over his shoulder, listening to the Dream halfheartedly, Artifex began to weigh up his options. The best and most selfish thing to do would be to hide the book somewhere from the creature and then revert back to his "Sleeping state." Witch was not existing in the real world, but rather living inside the world of the written word. But Arti would feel bad about leaving Jules alone. Terrible in fact, as it seemed he had made a new friend. The skull fell, slowly and dramatically, before clattering to the floor and rolling around, before coming to a stop. "I think..." Arti breathed softly. "That we should get away from here. Very, very quickly..." Before he had finished his scentance, the door of skulls exploded outward in shards. Before they had actually landed, Arti was running.

The book seemed to act like an anchor. It slowed him down, as his bare feet slapped violently against the stone floor, but it was very useful to get around corners. As he was about to turn right, he would hold it in his right hand and throw it out, hoping no one would get hit in the face by the fast moving tomb. He would slip slightly, but he had excellent balance and would right himself quickly enough. Artifex had a good running style, as if he had ran from alot of bad things in his life. Making a left he wished, in his heart of hearts, that Jules was very close behind.

[Guest]

Splinters of bone and shards of wood bounced and clattered across the floor, drawing Jules' attention. It was, in his experience, fairly common for objects of fear and loathing to slink around the door and give terror time to have a full foothold in the mind of a frozen Dreamer. This wasn't the case with the thing that burst out of the Library; it didn't wait for the bits of door to settle on the floor, instead it careened around the doorframe, slipped on it's own blood and skidded into the wall.

"Pff. Amateur," Jules muttered to himself. Arti had already hared off down the passage, and the Dream felt the pressure of his perceptions slip away with him. For a moment, Jules was slightly confused by the change in his mind, then he grinned and tweaked the 'Silence' sign from the bony, rotting hand of the undead thing. The reaction was immediate: instead of grappling with the wall and trying to free whatever part of it's amalgamated body was jammed into the plaster and the skulls, it's bony, rotted hands started swiping for the sign. With a bemused smile, Jules let the frantic hands find the paper, then he inspected the undead horror in much the same way as a prospective buyer inspects a mount. His dark face broke into a grin, then he swiped the mane of his hair away from his face and chuckled.

A few minutes later, the spear-laden, bony thing made up of several human bodies and animated by the darker magics galloped down the corridor after Artifex. An endless trail of semi-rotted blood leaked over the floor behind it, but that wasn't the most noticable thing about the creature. Perced incongruously on it's back and waving a piece of paper in front of it was Jules. The lionesque man had evidently clambered onto it, and was treating it like a particularly stupid donkey, with the Silence sign taking the place of a carrot. He chuckled as it sped down the corridor, slid around the corner and galloped up the corridor towards Arti.

Jules' laughter was loud and boistrous as he let go of the sign and backflipped off the undead creature's back. The sign simply plastered itself against the undead creature's face as it slid down the corridor on a trail of it's own blood and crashed out of the enormous stained glass window that reached from floor to ceiling at the end. It was, the dream felt as he stood up, quite a fitting end. Then his feet slid out from under him and he landed on his face. At the same time, he felt his tail slide out of the back of his pants and flop forlornly into the blood that stained the corridor.

"Ow," Jules murmured vaguely, as his face met the slick floor. "Be a pal and help me up would you, Art?"

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